


i'd rather be on fire, rather be on fire, fire

by caspercadaver



Category: Over the Garden Wall (Cartoon & Comics)
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, Beast Wirt, Body Horror, Gen, Good Brother Greg, Good Brother Wirt, Greg is Sweet, Greg is trying his best, Hurt/Comfort, It's Not Paranoia If They're Really Out To Get You, Lantern-Bearer Greg, Monsterfication, The Mortifying Ordeal of Being Known, The Unknown is Sentient, This Is Not Going To Go The Way You Think, Transformation, Wirt's Poetry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-20
Updated: 2020-08-20
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:46:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26015215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caspercadaver/pseuds/caspercadaver
Summary: The process of becoming a Beast, or so they said, was a slow starting one. But once the first symptom started the transformation would take no time at all.Starting at the tips of toes and finger joints, a ceaseless ache that followed one into their restless sleep.A persistent headache that promised never to let up.Limbs that started to blacken and turn numb.Then the blindness, as your eyes turned into flashlights of red, yellow and blue.Back in The Unknown, new edelwood trees are plaguing the every-growing forest. With the last Beast gone, someone needs to restore balance.
Relationships: Gregory & Wirt (Over the Garden Wall), Wirt & The Unknown, Wirt & Wirt and Greg's mother
Comments: 3
Kudos: 77





	i'd rather be on fire, rather be on fire, fire

These days, Wirt didn't know what was worse; the ache in his hands that stopped him from being able to play his clarinet and just about allowed him to write his poetry, or that Greg was bringing up the Unknown again. His mum and Greg's dad, Sylvester, would wave away the stories as just that. Stories. Wirt, on the other hand, had tried to bring that place up once and his mother had paled so rapidly he was afraid she would pass out. Now, no one liked bringing up anything remotely related to The Incident as it had been dubbed, but he'd thought such a reaction to be a little... Much.

After doing a little research, shared hallucinations during a near-death experience was something unheard of. That was a point towards it all being real, at least. It wasn't that Wirt necessarily doubted his memories, well, yeah that was actually the case. In fact he had wished it was all just a dream. But since Greg and his stories lined up perfectly, barring some exaggerations on his brother's side, such a thing was impossible. Wishful thinking and self doubt still allowed him slight moments of reprieve so that he could have some normal moments. 

But all of that _really_ wasn't the point. Greg was talking about the Beast this time. Not when he thought Wirt could hear, of course, his little brother knew how he still had nightmares about the end of their journey. Greg had them too, most nights ending up with both the boys sleeping in Wirt's bed despite the older being sixteen and the younger nearing ten, one would say far too old for either to be seeking each other's comfort. But only they knew what they had been through and Greg seeking his parent's bed at night would cause them to worry. 

Greg had mentioned to Sylvester that he thought he had seen the Beast the night prior, outside his window, floodlight eyes staring at him like he was trying to figure something out. That explained why Greg had gone to Wirt's room early. The older man had tried to comfort him with a smile so strained it was obvious, saying that they could put up working curtains in his room if he would like. Greg had accepted and walked over to Wirt who had been pretending to listen to music. 

Later that week it was clear to the younger occupants of the house that their mother hadn't slept a wink, the pacing footsteps on the porch giving away that she had been on the lookout for something. That had made no sense to Wirt, as he was convinced she didn't believe them about the Unknown.

Hands trembling, Wirt looked at his notebook. The writing was all squiggly, as if written with an unpractised hand instead of someone who had been writing coherently since he was six. It was the summer holidays and he was under no societal obligation to spend time with his friend group, which made it easier to hide his shaking. His feelings for Sara had dissipated not long after his near-death experience but he could say they were fairly good friends. But they still hung out at the cemetery and he could barely go near the thing without feeling like his skeleton was going to burst out of his flesh-suit and hightail it out of there. Massaging his hands, Wirt stared off into the distance, window facing the rest of the suburbs. Straining his eyes slightly, he noticed there was something right out of his field of view. Before he could investigate further, his mum called for him to go to bed. 

Wirt sighed and called out goodnight to the rest of what he could now tentatively call family. Cracking his knuckled, which only escalated the dull pain, he closed his notebook and left it on the desk. Pulling on pyjamas with hands that could have been longer than they used to be, he crawled under his covers and was out like a light.

When Wirt awoke, he had a headache so bad that he wished he was dead, but it was the sort of migraine that promised him he would continue to suffer but not die. Rays of sunlight that filtered through blinds he could've sworn were open dug needles into his eye sockets and nearly knocked him out again from pain alone. Feeling a small body clung to his own like a limpet, Wirt guessed he could thank his brother for that small mercy.

Poking him lightly in the side, Wirt whispered, "Greg. Hey, Greg." he received a smothered giggle in return."Come on, get up. It's nearly noon." He glanced over at his digital clock with squinted eyes, trying not to let most of the light in."Fine, have it your way."

Straining his body to force itself up, his vision swam with motion his brain certainly didn't appreciate. Squirming his way out of bed and falling onto the floor in the boneless way only kids could, Greg smiled up at him.

"Brother o' mine, what a joyous Saturday it is!"

"Don't sound so enthusiastic," Wirt snorted, shaking his head in an effort to clear his head but only making it worse he winced, though tried not to make it seen."I've seen you get up at three in the afternoon on a weekend, you can't seriously be this enthusiastic right now."

Greg's smile didn't waiver when he noticed his brother's pain, but he did narrow his eyes up at him.

"I'll get you some ibuprofen!"

Wirt nodded in wordless thanks and looked down at his fingers when his brother skipped out of the room, somehow so chipper. And found he couldn't breathe. They were long, spindly even and were unfamiliar enough for him to know that they certainly weren't his hands. But he knew who's hands they looked like. The creature that plagued his nightmares and days from the sketches in his notebooks.

They looked like The Beast's.


End file.
